In the night, where I live
There’s a strange force, in your kids Oh
All’s divine in desire
With an ire of philosophy
Burning scrolls in the naked heat
Oh how coy, is your little boy

Because I know, he don’t read that well

I got (I got)
Buried (Buried)
And it won’t be long before I rise in
I got (I got)
Buried (Buried)
And it won’t be long, yeah

In the night, where I live
Your children sway, they fuel the kitsch
Raise their glass to Soviet crimes in the war
And in shadows,
I write, in tongues of old
Fumes of fallen, smell and burn like always, always

Because I know, he don’t read that well
And I know, only time will tell me

I got (I got)
Buried (Buried)
No it won’t be long, before I rise in
I got (I got)
Buried (Buried)
No it won’t be long, before I rise in song

And I know, he don’t read that well, yeah

I got (I got)
Buried (Buried)
No it won’t be long, before I rise in
I got (I got)
Buried (Buried)
Oh no, because I know, I’ve got you